


Faith, Hope and Love

by mmmuse



Series: Discoveries [2]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demelza reflects on the discoveries she made over the first six months of her marriage, and hopes the one she holds most dear will be welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith, Hope and Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the kudos for part 1 of the Discoveries series! Definitely helps to inspire more. I hadn't read the source material before seeing the television series but recently finished the first book. I've been amazed at how well the screenwriters did with conveying the myriad of layers in all of the characterizations. 
> 
> Part 3 is coming. Soon, I hope!

_Prologue: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of all these is love. I Corinthians 13:13 NIV_

It was Christmas night 1787, and Demelza Carnes Poldark walked into the front hallway of Nampara and closed the door with a quiet click. She’d just left her husband, Ross, at Wheal Leisure, the copper mine that had been in his family for generations. After nearly twelve months of trying, “a monstrous load” of the mineral had finally been struck. _Trying_ , she thought, a wry smile touching the corner of her lips. The word barely described the backbreaking work that had gone into the effort from hundreds of people, not to mention the blood, sweat and tears shed by all in the doing. Including her husband. Of course, he’d spent countless hours poring over charts and maps, worrying over balance sheets and scrabbling together enough capital to keep the venture afloat. He’d also spent hours in the dark, confined spaces, moving ironstone to the surface with the rest of the miners and his partner and mine captain, Henshaw, setting fuses when they’d had to use what precious bit of powder they’d had to spare to move forward with their progress.

Ross’ reputation for fully involving himself in his work at the mine, in the farming of his property, and the compassionate relationships he’d had with the miners and tenants on his land were well known throughout the county. It was one of the things that made her proud to be his wife.

The night before they’d left for Trenwith – home of their cousins Francis, Elizabeth and Verity – he’d shared the gravity of their financial situation: they had until the week after Christmas to strike copper, at which point the mine would close. As they’d neared the mine on their way home, she’d heard the fear on the edge of his voice when Ross had said they might soon be destitute. Her proud, strong Ross, carrying what seemed to be the weight of Cornwall on his shoulders. “There are other kinds of treasure,” she’d said, nestling closer, and giving his arm an encouraging squeeze. Just then, the mine bell had begun to ring and they’d both begun to run. Ross’ long legs quickly outdistanced her, so when she’d reached the top of the hill she’d seen him fall to his knees and feared the worst. Suddenly, he’d thrown his head back and laughed, springing up to his feet to clasp Henshaw in a ferocious bear hug of joy. Seconds later she’d been wrapped in his arms, held tight against his body. She’d felt the elation ripple through him, heard the relief in the exhalation against her ear and it had made her a little dizzy and weak-kneed.

He’d apologized for not being able to continue their walk back up to Nampara, stammering a list of things he’d need to do before he saw their bed that night. She’d smiled at him and left him with a kiss to the rest of the celebratory crew before continuing the remaining half-mile to their home.

“Jud? Prudy?” she called out to the house, inwardly praying the Paynters had already disappeared to their room with a bottle of rum. She was rewarded with blessed silence. She hung up her cloak on the hook by the door, gathered the apron she’d left near the hearth and tied it around her waist. Based on what Ross had told her, she thought she would have time to put together a quick bread to go along with the fruit and cheese she’d planned for their dinner. As she began to pull the ingredients together from their larder, a brief – but swift – bout of nausea struck her, hard enough to make her sit down on the bench with a hard plop. It was happening more and more often, and she finally acknowledged that she would have to tell him about it soon. It had been near murder wearing her new frock the night before as the prediction she’d shared with Verity the day they’d arranged it had come to fruition: her measuring _was_ no longer the same as it had been.

Demelza figured she’d been lucky to hide her pregnancy from Ross for as long as she had. She’d had no idea how he’d failed to notice the changes to her body. _‘specially how often he’d taken to enjoying it_ , she mused to herself. And while she’d not yet begun to require much in the way of new attire, she’d acknowledged her breasts had grown larger and more sensitive in recent weeks, the nipples and surrounding tissue a darker rose than before. A thickening around her waist had formed, and it would only become more obvious as time marched forward.

It had only been a matter of time before she’d become with child and, if she were honest with herself, it had surprised her it hadn’t happened sooner. Since their wedding, they’d rarely spent a night apart. And she’d been glad for that, for she’d come to crave his touch on her skin, his mouth on her throat, and his body in hers. He’d encouraged her to be as uninhibited as she’d desired when they were closed up in their bedchamber, and she’d eagerly complied with his wishes.

Their moments alone had become a cornerstone of their life together. She wondered how things would change for them, once he’d heard the news. She’d known he would be happy, of course. _All_ men were happy when the prospect of an heir was on its way. But would it mean he’d hold himself from her, for fear of hurting her? She’d not had a mother to talk with about her marriage and its expectations, so she’d turned to her friend – and kitchen maid – Jinny Carter for advice, only after swearing her to secrecy. Although Jinny was only a few years older than Demelza, she’d already had a child and had been invaluable in sharing what knowledge she’d gained from her own mother with her employer. Jinny had said her husband, Jim, had been terrified to touch her after she’d started to show, but her mother had re-assured that her neither she nor the baby would come to harm if they’d decided to continue their intimacies. “Do what yer comfortable doin’, mistress,” Jinny had told Demelza with a blush.

 _Right_ , Demelza thought to herself. _Now to convince Ross of that._ She didn’t fear his response. Not really. She had faith, hope and love on her side.

Her faith in Ross had begun the day he’d brought her home with him from the Redruth Fair. He’d nearly beaten the life out of her miserable excuse for a father in the middle of the Nampara kitchen. Unbeknownst to Ross, Demelza had heard the entire incident from her hiding place in the sideboard cupboard. It had sounded like the new team of oxen he’d purchased were running riot in the room. At one point during the brawl, the two men had crashed into the sideboard, sending it rocking precariously on the floor before righting itself with a shudder.

After the fight was over, Prudy had suggested Demelza had run off, in spite of the fact she’d known where the young girl had hidden. Ross, groaning in pain from the beating had been inclined to agree with Prudy and had said “She appears to be more trouble than she’s worth.” After Ross had left, Prudy had flung the words back at Demelza, fresh from her hiding place.

_“‘is words, not mine,” she’d sneered. “Now off it, girl. Back where ‘ou belong.”_

Demelza had been crushed. She’d only been at Nampara for a few hours and had already got on her knees to thank the Lord for her good fortune. And now she was being told to leave? She’d gathered Garrick and headed down the road, sadly singing to herself as she trudged along. Where would she go? She’d not return to her father’s home in Illogan, but where could she possibly go?

 _“What have you got to sing about?” a voice rang out._ _She jumped. There was Ross, beaten and bloodied, sitting atop Darkie, glaring down on her. He’d scooped her up, set her in front of him on the horse and returned to Nampara._

Her faith had been rattled. It had been restored by that single, solitary action. It would not falter again.

Her hope in him had begun soon after, begun as most hopes do: fervent wishes for the promises of stability offered by the tall, often taciturn man, whose eyes could flash dark with anger over injustices. A slash of a smile creasing his face over the antics of his new kitchen maid, for she’d seen it happen time and again. Even though she’d often been on the receiving end of some indignity – the memory of the pump baths she’d had to endure her first few weeks at Nampara to clear away “the crawlers” Ross refused to put up with sprung immediately to mind – she’d found herself to be happy to have been the one responsible for the smile’s appearance.

He’d balanced his gruffness with kindness when she’d least expected it. The day he’d realized she’d had no cloak he’d taken her into Truro immediately to remedy the situation. She’d been nervous as a cat entering the dressmaker’s shop, but a few pokes and spins later she’d walked out with a cloak of in a beautiful chestnut brown with a cheerful red lining.

It had been the first new article of clothing she’d ever had in her life. So taken with it she’d completely forgotten the pail of pilchards she’d left outside the shop and had got halfway down the high street before realizing it. She’d spun around, only to find her master, Ross Poldark, carrying it for her. She’d been mortified and unrestrained with her apologies. Very soon after she’d had two fitted gowns of her very own, one in a golden striped, the other in a simple burgundy. She’d happily tossed the ill-fitted, hand-me-down clothes she’d received from Prudy her first day at Nampara into the rag bin. She’d felt herself standing a little taller and prouder every day after.

But the love? She leaned against the table with a smile. The love she had for him formed the foundation of it all and had begun the day they’d met.

It had begun simply enough: a servant’s love and devotion for their master, especially a master who’d saved her from brutality. It had grown deeper as she’d witnessed the struggle he’d had with himself and his feelings for Elizabeth, the girl he’d loved before he’d left for the war, who had married his own cousin, Francis. Despite this, and the black moods that had seemed to descend upon him whenever she’d come around, he’d leapt to save Francis’ life after a duel had taken place in the front meadow. Demelza had helped him, not thinking for a moment about the blood or chaos surrounding them. She’d simply reacted to the need of the moment, a need that had come from Ross.

By then, she’d have done anything for him.

Later that evening, after the Trenwith Poldarks had left Nampara, Ross and his servants had headed to Wheal Leisure to begin the cleanup of the mine office, in preparation for re-opening. As they’d shared a simple dinner of fish and bread, he’d complimented Demelza on how helpful she’d been during the crisis, and she’d felt a rush of pride. But then he’d continued, telling her that if she’d wanted to return to her family he’d understand.

_She felt fear and disbelief race down her back. “Sir, I’ll work harder!” she pleaded. “I’ll scrub and scour and fetch—”_

_“—Demelza, your work is more than satisfactory,” he interrupted with a slight sigh._

_“Then why, sir?” She looked directly into his eyes, changeable eyes that could turn black with fury one minute, only to lighten to a mossy hazel-green when his temper had eased._

_“I was merely offering you a chance to return home,” he explained, those same hazel-green eyes softening around the corners for a moment. “If that’s where you feel you belong.”_

_“I belong here,” she said brokenly, doing her best to keep from crying. She sat across from him on the blankets, overlooking the Cornish sea. And the master she’d come to love. “I belong here.”_

Her love had grown to be multi-faceted and outright confusing, almost at once. Her cheeks had flamed with embarrassment, curiosity and – finally – appreciation when she’d happened upon him as he’d bathed in the cove. He’d swum with the effortless grace of a seal, his black hair sleek, and the water gliding over muscles honed through the hard labor six months of farm work. She’d had plenty of experience seeing the male of her species – one didn’t have six younger brothers and NOT know what they looked like – but Ross had been the first adult male she’d ever seen without a stitch of clothing on. And she’d been dazzled.

She couldn’t help feeling a little jealous whenever she’d seen him at cross-purposes with Elizabeth, never understanding how on earth the woman could have ever given up hope of seeing him again. _If_ she’d loved him as much as it seemed she’d done. Of course, now – knowing how Elizabeth must have felt she’d had no choice – she’d found herself almost feeling sorry for the mistress of Trenwith. Ross had yet to use the word “love” when speaking of his feelings for Demelza, and – as she’d told Verity the first time she’d come to call on them at Nampara – she thought he never would. She’d known he’d cared for her, and had treated her with kindness and respect. It was something she’d never known before the day Ross had saved her.

If the rumors Demelza had heard about Elizabeth’s husband, Francis – gambling their family fortune away, affairs with other women – then it was clear he was not showing the same care for the beautiful woman with whom he’d spoken vows of marriage. If these rumors were true, Demelza now considered herself to be a most fortunate woman indeed.

Demelza’s feelings for Ross had taken a dramatic leap forward the day of Jim and Jinny Carter’s wedding. They’d ridden over to the church on Darkie, much as they had countless other times, but for some reason it had felt different. She’d smiled as she’d looked up at the clouds, her arms held lightly around his waist, feeling the wind whip the edge of her cloak to snap along behind them like a red flag. The reception at the couple’s “new” cottage (one on Ross’ land, sorely in need of repairs, that he’d let the couple use rent-free in exchange for the work) had been a boisterous affair, with pipers and ale, dancing and singing long into the night.

She’d noticed Ross’ gaze on her a time or two while she’d been dancing, a light smile quirking up one side of his mouth and making him appear almost boyish. It had not been the flickering glance at a servant who’d brought him his tea, but the straightforward, interested stare of a man towards a woman. It had made her feel nervous and powerful all at the same time.

Those appreciative glances had continued in the weeks to come. She’d see them over the top of his brandy glass or from across the yard. She’d observed his eyes would follow her – shielded through his thick, black lashes – as she carried out daily tasks, particularly as she would tuck fresh bouquets of wild flowers about the house. They’d begun sharing their evening meal together, and she’d found herself quite taken aback at how he’d talk with her as if he’d been having dinner with a companion, occasionally seeking her thoughts on a subject or two. This sharing had sometimes passed beyond dinner to being in each other’s company well into the evening, sitting in front of the fire practicing her letters while he’d gone through paperwork or simply sharing the silence while he read through the never-ending paperwork he’d had from the mine and she played with their ancient cat, Tabitha Bethea.

This companionship deepened after Jim had been caught poaching, and Ross would share the distaste he’d felt for people of his own class incapable of feeling compassion for those of the lower classes. Demelza had wondered how he could see them when others from his class could not.

_“Perhaps I am,” he said discouraged, staring off at the wall._

_“No. No, sir, they don’t see us like you do,” she said softly. “We’re folk with hurts and feelin’s, same as they.”_

_“Sometimes I fail to see that too, Demelza,” he said with a sigh before meeting her eyes_ _with his. “Sometimes I barely see what is right in front of me_.”

The candor and distress she’d seen in them had almost caused her to reach out her hand to touch his. She’d barely caught herself in time.

Yet, a mere twenty-four hours later, she’d lain with him, finding herself sweat-dampened and forever changed by his touch.

The events leading to that moment raced through her mind: her father – a man who’d never cared for her welfare a day of her life – was coming to take her home. He’d recounted rumors of fornication and shame between his daughter and Poldark.

It was only natural, of course: Ross Poldark was a man of intense emotions, and had been known to act in a rash and impulsive manner in all things. All of polite society had known about the interest he’d paid to Elizabeth before he’d gone off to America for the war. And how that interest had been merely banked, following her marriage to his cousin. The chemistry between them had remained palpable. Furthermore, Ross’ father had had the reputation as a bit of a libertine with his affections during his day, regardless if it were with the ladies of the gentry or the vulgar. The fact that Demelza had been a young girl, the _only_ young girl living under Ross’ roof for all this time; a young girl of _marrying_ age, and a servant in his household? If he hadn’t taken advantage of her in the three years he’d had her at Nampara it would have been a miracle.

Demelza had been dismayed at the news: after all, she’d been aware of the stares and whispers of some of the villagers whenever she’d walk by and had waved them aside as idol gossip or jealousy. And although she’d been innocent of the realities of what men and women did together in the dark, she’d known enough about the mechanics of sexual congress. One could not live on a working farm and not see the animals in the fields during mating season.

Known enough so she’d had the rudimentary images of what _might_ occur sprinkling through her dreams of late. Images she’d found more intriguing as time had gone on. Images vivid enough to know what the rumors implied.

But hearing her father accuse her of “sin between you and Poldark” had made her furious and sickened with dread at the same time. Had the rumors reached all the way to Illogan? And if her father had heard, surely they’d reached Ross’ ears as well. She’d been filled with shame. Shame for something she hadn’t even done, and a hurt for the man who’d done nothing more than save her from a life of pain and abuse, from _his_ perspective, at the very least.

She couldn’t leave Nampara. She couldn’t leave Ross. But she’d had no illusions that he’d not want to see her go. Not if her continued presence would rain ugly rumor and innuendo down onto his head. She was his kitchen maid, nothing more than that. She was not as important to him as he was to her.

Prudy had reassured her that Ross would stay in town that night, so Demelza had taken the opportunity to spend hours in the room that had become her favorite in the house: the library. It had had so many fascinating items to discover and explore: hundreds of books which she’d craved to read, the harpsichord she’d longed to play. There were Indian hatchets from the Americas, maps of the mine, various rocks and delicate trinkets.

There was also a chest that had contained some of the old clothes belonging to Ross’ parents, including a robin’s-egg blue satin dress. She’d come across the dress a month before during one of her moments of exploration and had loved the feel of the fabric under her fingertips. She’d been tempted to try it on that day, but had been interrupted by Ross’ return.

But this night, Prudy had said he’d stay the night in town. So, if she truly _was_ leaving in the morning, this would be her only chance.

She’d slipped off her yellow-flowered gown and shift, feeling a little lightheaded in the knowledge that she was standing in Ross’ _library_ , as naked as the day she’d been born. She’d untied the laces at the back just enough to allow herself to wriggle in and tied it closed. The rich, sibilant sound of the satin fabric sliding against the floor pleased her ears. The weight and sensation of the finest fabric she’d ever felt against her skin had made her close her eyes, and she’d nearly purred with contentment. Would have, if the sadness in her leaving hadn’t scorched the pleasure into ash.

She’d run her hands over the harpsichord, the books and parchments, bidding them a sad farewell. “I can’t leave him,” she’d said in despair, tears stinging her eyes. Then a sound came from the other side of the door that had come close to making her scream aloud.

_“Demelza!” Ross’ shout rang through the entry hall. “DEMELZA!”_

She’d frozen. There was no way for her to get out of the dress and back into her own before he’d come looking for her, so she’d had no alternative: she’d have to sneak out to the kitchen and lay out some food, all the while staying out of his direct line of sight. She’d tiptoed into the kitchen and had found Ross seated in front of the fire. His hair, the long, dark and curling strands she’d so longed to touch, had been disheveled from riding, a wild tangle about his head. The line of his shoulders, bent in defeat, had made her heart ache.

She’d scooped up a platter of cheese and a bowl of fruit and set them on the table. He’d been so pre-occupied in the fire, in telling her about the sad events of the day that she’d almost made her way back out of the room to safety. But when she hadn’t answered a direct question he’d turned and caught sight of her standing, silhouetted in the door.

_The furrow of his brow deepened over eyes grown black in the gloom. “What are you wearing?” His voice, deceptively quiet in tone, all but hissed with anger._

_“I-I found it, sir,” Demelza stammered, her voice sounding reedy in her ears. “In one of the chests in the library.”_

_"You dared to go rifling through those things?” Ross said, his eyes widening in near-disbelief._

_Demelza could taste the bile in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said in a rush of words. “You never told me I shouldn’t—“_

_“—Surely that was obvious!” he’d interrupted her, his voice tight and abrupt. “You’re employed as a maid—”_

_“—I know, sir,” she whispered, her face flaming scarlet with shame._

_“And you’ve been a good one,” he continued, the fury in his voice causing it to tremble. “And for that you’re allowed certain liberties. But dressing up in fine clothes is not one of them.”_

_“I meant no harm, sir,” she pleaded. “It was just rotting away in that old box—”_

_“Take it off.” His voice seared her like flame._

_“And I thought maybe you might let me and—”_

_“—TAKE IT OFF NOW!” he bellowed, his voice filling through the room. He surged to his feet and crossed the room in two strides, halting with mere inches between them. “If you don’t take it off this minute you can pack your things and go back to your father!”_

_She could see him, shaking with fury from head to foot. She could hear her father’s threats ringing in her ears along with Ross’ ultimatum and it became too much to bear. She_ would _be leaving Nampara. Leaving him. And all was lost. She began to cry, turning her back to him, feeling her shoulders hunch in surrender to her fate._

_“Demelza, enough, enough, now!” He stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. The fury in his eyes had quieted, like a fire barely tamped down to embers, only requiring the slightest breeze to reignite. “I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly. Don’t take it to heart.” He took a step towards her, the brows straightening, beseeching, now within arm’s reach. “It’s been a hellish day and I’m not myself.”_

_He brushed her cheek, then her chin. His hand remained there for a beat, then two. Her heart raced in her chest, the breath shivering in her lungs. He’d never touched her face before, and she stilled under the caress. She felt his eyes, his beautiful eyes, searching her face – for what, she knew not – until she felt his hands reach for her waist, pulling her towards him for a near-punishing kiss._

_Her body quaked, her shock in that moment so profound, and was overcome with sensation. The strength of his grip upon her, the taste of brandy on his lips, the heat of the breath that streamed from his nostrils against her cheek. Shock gave way to joy in a thrice. Demelza’s eyes – held open in amazement – drifted shut as she surrendered to the gift of a third kiss before he broke away from her, pushing her from his embrace with one hand._

_“What is it?” Demelza asked, her voice trembling with an emotion she could not name. “What have I done?”_

_Ross’ voice was hoarse, near breathless. “I didn’t take you from your father for this—”_

_“What does it matter what you took me for?” she said, her voice pleading and demanding, all at the same time._

_“Go to bed,” he said woodenly._

_“Sir!”_

_He turned to face her. “Go to bed, now.” He sounded weary to the bone. He turned away and walked slowly from the room._

_Demelza collapsed to the ground, her trembling legs finally giving way as tears fell from her eyes. Hugging her knees to her chest, she felt helpless and hopeless yet confused and aching to feel his touch once more. Echoes of her father’s threats and the whispers from the village filled her mind, warring with realities of the feel of Ross’ lips and hands, no longer imaginings but made flesh and known to her. And now that she’d known what it was to be held in his arms, to have had the smallest sip of the flood of passion she knew filled him, how could she hold herself from it?_

_The love she held in her heart for the strong, tortured man upstairs settled the battle. She wiped her cheeks against the satin and rose from the floor. A decision made, she walked over to the table and blew out the solitary candle with a finality that stilled the air._

_Her legs renewed their shaking as she climbed the stairs to the master bedchamber. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand, knocked on the door and pushed it open. She found Ross sitting on the bed, his waistcoat held loosely in his hand, the braces supporting his breeches sliding down his arm._

_“What is it?” he said, softly. His eyes – gentled from earlier – looked at her, wary and cautious._

_She walked into the room soundlessly, although she was certain he would be able to hear her heart pounding from across the room. She crossed over to the bed, and stopped a few feet away from where he sat._

_“The dress,” she said, almost in a whisper. “It unfastens down the back.” She turned, presenting her back to him. She wondered if he would recognize the fact the laces were loose enough for her to wriggle free on her own, with time and patience. She hoped he would, desperately. She was saying – through her actions – what she could not yet articulate._ I want you.

_She heard him rise from the bed and felt him stand behind her, close enough to feel his breath at the nape of her neck. She nearly started when his fingertips brushed her skin at the top of the gown before she felt the slither of the laces as he slowly pulled them loose. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of his breathing, audible above the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears, the sensations racing along her spine and heating her skin until his hands ceased their labors. There was a chill in the air, but she could not feel it because of the heat emanating from the man standing inches from her, his forehead pressed against her hair._

_“You know what people say of us,” he whispered, his voice taking on a quality she’d not known before. Rasping. Wanting._

_“Yes,” Demelza sighed, her yearning almost unbearable._

_“If we behave like this,” he continued, “it will be true.”_

_A simple fact to be acknowledged. One last chance to change her mind. She could feel the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stirring with each and every breath he took._

_“Then,_ let _it be true,” she breathed._ And her heart all but fell into his hands.

The next several hours were a feast of sensation for Demelza. He’d been ardent and gentle in turns, soothing away her tears with unsteady hands when he’d entered her the first time, bringing her to a release she hadn’t known she’d needed until it had grown to such an intensity she’d not been able to keep from crying out. She’d drifted off to sleep wrapped in his arms, only to be roused again, hours later, with kisses, touches and more.

She’d woken a few hours later and slipped quietly out of the bedchamber, grateful the Paynters were still abed. She’d held the blue satin dress up to shield her nakedness as she made her way to the library to change back into her own gown before heading to her own room to ready for the day.

She’d hissed a breath of pain when she tended to her bathing. It had been impossible not to notice the tinge of blood on the cloth, and it re-emphasized the importance of what had happened. As she began to dress, she’d noticed other discomforts: the insides of her thighs were tender, her lower back ached. There’d been a faint bruise along the side of her breast where he’d bitten her and she’d been certain more would rise along her hips from where he’d gripped her, held her still when he’d reached his last, shuddering release.

She’d never felt better in her life.

Six months later and she _still_ had difficulty believing how they’d gone from that single night of passion to standing in front of Reverend Hodges becoming man and wife. She’d only known that with each day that had passed, from that day to this, her love for him had grown beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

She blinked. “Goodness, where is your head, Demelza?” she said to herself with a chuckle, stirring from her reminiscing. She’d best get started on the bread if it were to be ready before Ross got home.

Ross had come home well past dark, around eight o’clock, dusty and tired, but the elation from earlier in the day still played around his eyes. He’d kissed her close to breathless before heading to the library to gather some papers he needed to go over before the next day’s happy meeting with his shareholders. They’d shared a quiet supper fruit, cheese and the bread she’d made, still warm from the hearth, whilst he shared the stories of the day. She’d smiled, seeing the weeks of worry sliding away from his features, leaving smiles and laughter in its wake.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hours later, Demelza lit the candles on the nightstands, changed into her night rail – one of Ross’ old shirts – and climbed into their bed. Her husband stood at the table near the fireplace, shuffling through his papers a final time.

“So, how did I do, Ross?” She nearly blurted out the question. It had been on her mind all evening, and she couldn’t wait to know the answer. “You’re not too ashamed of me?”

He turned his head to gaze at her a moment before turning to glance out the window. “Why do you think I married you?” he asked, his tone direct.

 _Faith, hope and love._ “I don’t rightly know.”

“To satisfy an appetite,” he stated, matter-of-factly. He set the papers in his hand down with a plop. “To save myself from being alone.” Another plop, and the pencil met the papers on the desk. He crossed the room to sit across from her. “Because it was the right thing to do?” he asked, a quiet, sighing laugh in his throat. “I had few expectations,” a slight smile teasing his lips as he shook his head. “At best, you’d be a distraction. A bandage to ease a wound.”

Demelza felt a slight, painful squeeze to her heart. Her first inclination was to look down at the linen sheets surrounding her, but she held his gaze, determined to face whatever was to come without fear. _Faith, hope and love._

“But I was mistaken.” His words were a caress. She watched his eyes, hazel-green grown as dark and stormy as they were whenever they’d made love in that bed. As they were the night nearly four months before when they’d created the life she cradled in her womb.

“You’ve redeemed me,” he breathed. He reached for her left hand, the one he’d placed a simple gold band upon six months before. “I am your humble servant. And I love you.”

At first, she wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. Then she smiled and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding ever since he reached for her hand. He leaned in, his hand reaching up to touch her cheek and kissed her with more tenderness than he’d ever shown before.

As their kiss broke apart, their foreheads touched and remained there – a caress in and of itself – and breathed the same air as the other. She opened her eyes to see the dark lashes of his own slowly drifting up to reveal the truth of his heart. Green, brown, gray and blue swam through the irises, glittering in candlelight. In that moment, she was, Demelza decided, the most fortunate of women.

“Well,” she said, awash with emotion and feeling butterflies fluttering in her stomach for what was to come. _Faith, hope and love._ “I hope you have a little love to spare.”

Ross smiled. “For what?”

“For our child.”

Ross slowly blinked, the corner of his mouth edging up in a grin. From his expression she could see he’d yet to fully comprehend what she’d said to him. She tilted her head, her own smile broadening. Light dawned in his eyes and he captured her face in his hands, bringing her towards him in another kiss. And more. So much more.

Faith, hope and love. In abundance.


End file.
